Singing in church always makes me happy, but this week was over the top. My twins and five of their friends arrived early Sunday morning to practice. We had a pianist and drummer to add pizzazz and the rehearsal was more fun than I deserve. 

Ten feet away there were six people in costume going over the enactment. The story was about a king named Josiah, whose efforts to clean up the temple resulted in finding the lost Word. Children were enlisted to help stack blocks, and offer the rediscovered scroll to the high priest. 

They rehearsed at the same time, but were intent on their task to the point that they didn't really notice us. That surprised me, because the teenagers sounded, well, fabulous. Every time we finished a piece I kind of expected the actors to turn around and clap. But they were doing their own preparations. 

When the service actually began the two elements dove tailed seamlessly. The minister talked about how we can lose track of things that are important to us, and how if we search we can find them again. I thought about the idealism I felt when I was a teenager, and how sometimes that enthusiasm gets buried under monotony. 

Sometimes there are women who feel like their efforts to be a loving wife are more solo than partnership. It is as if they are living under the same roof as their husbands, but pursuing entirely different agendas. Other people who are not married at all might wonder what the point is in going through the motions of cooperation and kindness, when there is no one to do it with. Plus nobody is clapping. 

I wonder if it is possible that when they step from earthly preliminaries into eternity, their efforts will merge with someone who has also been putting in a lifetime of work. Two hands, that were never quite in sync. Almost as if they were part of a shared trajectory.